


crooked spin can’t come to rest // i'm damaged bad at best // you tell me the morning after

by KaterinaRiley



Series: Soulmates, Soul Words, Soulless, Soul Marked [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (that should be a solid tag by now seriously), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Keith, Emotionally Hurt Lance, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Keith Finds Out Lance Died, Keith Finds Out Lance Is His Soulmate, Langst, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Keith (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Post-Episode: s06e01 Omega Shield, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 15:02:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21199601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaterinaRiley/pseuds/KaterinaRiley
Summary: Keith's first Soulmate died suddenly before he could even meet them, but, miraculously, another set of Soul Words appeared on his wrist not even two minutes later. They were Lance's. Lance, the Blue-turned-Red Paladin; Lance, the man he's been nursing a crush on since The Bonding Moment; Lance, the rare Soulless, bound to no other being in the universe.How is he supposed to convince Lance to give them a chance? Especially after everything that's happened, after the way he treated Lance?--—he wanted to hold Lance’s hand and his cheek and his waist, wanted to taste Lance’s lips, wanted to laugh and talk and even cry with the man before him, to spend the rest of his life with him.But Keith’s speech was useless here.It didn’t plan on Lance lying to the team about his soul-situation, didn’t plan on Lance ripping Keith’s chest open over and over with each new passing word, didn’t plan on watching Lance crack in front of him, showing how utterly shattered he was underneath a thin, near-invisible façade.





	crooked spin can’t come to rest // i'm damaged bad at best // you tell me the morning after

**Author's Note:**

> So, I tried to make everything that I wrote make sense in regards to the canon timeline, and I think I did a relatively good job at it, but if there’s a scene that doesn’t actually make sense as to where I put it in the canon, then just fuck it and pretend it does cuz Voltron timeline is shit and I hate it so much.
> 
> Please give all your thanks to ThorneQueen’s comment on the first installment of this series (which you should read for this to make any sense) [all my love for the sweetness of his laughter // he is the tear that hangs inside my soul forever](%E2%80%9C) because they’re the one who gave me the idea of how to even start this fic and you can find their comment [right here](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/257566271).
> 
> And hey, turns out that I _did_ start writing this the very same day I posted the other one lmfao would you look at that (but I didn’t finish until a week-ish later oops)
> 
> <s>my other fics are currently yelling at me, I’m so sorry babies, I still love you, I promise</s>
> 
> Title taken from Elliot Smith’s _Say Yes_ (and yes, I know the lyrics aren’t in that order, <s>please don’t</s> sue me)

"Stop pacing," Shiro scolded, but his words weren't harsh. He seemed more amused than anything. "You'll be fine."

Keith huffed out a short laugh.

"Fine," he repeated, still pacing. "Yeah, sure, I'll be _fine_. Totally fine. It's not like I'm putting my heart on the line or anything."

He didn't see it, but he knew Shiro rolled his eyes.

"Keith." His hands reached out to grip at Keith's shoulders. "Please, for the love of my sanity, _stop pacing_."

As if Keith had a choice when Shiro's Altean arm could stop a speeding semi without him breaking a sweat.

"Did you do what I suggested?" he asked.

Nodding, Keith took out the paper from his jeans, the paper that hadn't stopped eating away at his thoughts all throughout dinner.

"Good." Shiro smiled and the churning of his stomach settled down slightly. "See? You'll be fine, Keith. Just go in there and tell him."

"Right." He nodded again, tightening his grip on the paper. "Yeah, I just go in there…and tell…"

He was going to throw up.

"I can't tell him!" he bemoaned, burying his face in his hands. "_Fuck_… Shiro, I don't think I can do this."

"Keith—"

"What if he says _no_?"

His voice was on the edge of hysteria and could probably be heard through the kitchen window, but he couldn't stop the words from spilling out of his mouth now.

"Shiro, he—he said he doesn't even _want_—fuck, he said he _liked_ being—and now I have—my wrist—his words—he—what if he says _no_?"

"And what if he says _yes_?"

Keith groaned, wrapped his arms protectively around himself, and desperately wished the ground would swallow him whole.

Quietly, barely hearing the words himself, he admitted, "I haven't been this scared in _years_, Shiro."

"Oh, Keith…" Sighing, Shiro gently pried Keith's hands away from his face. With an encouraging smile, he said, "Listen. You _can_ do this. You've been practicing the speech, for, what, like a week?"

"Two months," he mumbled.

"You've been practicing it for two—" Shiro paused, blinking rapidly as the words processed in his brain. "Wait, Keith, you've been working on a speech since _before_ I even suggested writing it?!"

With burning cheeks, Keith turned his back on his closest friend, arms crossed.

"Don't make fun of me," he ordered, except his voice wasn't the cold, steel tone he used during Blade missions—it was quiet and shaky and teetering more towards being a humiliating _whine _than anything a leader (Blade or Paladin) should sound like.

Clearing his throat, he tried again: "Shiro, I already lost my Soulmate once. I didn't even meet them yet, but when I felt the lines…I can't lose Lance too. Not like _this_."

It had been just after the mission that connected him to Krolia, connected him to his mom. They'd been arguing in the cockpit of a pod, Keith insisting she explain everything right then and there—_You drop a bomb like this and tell me you'll explain later? No, you're going to explain right_—and then a searing pain had stopped him cold.

Yanking the edges of his suit down over wrists, he'd watched in horror as the words his Soulmate was supposed to say to him slowly crossed themselves out. Minutes later, when new words appeared, signaling a new Soulmate, Krolia had to catch him as his knees gave out from under him.

It was not how he expected his first bonding experience with his mom to go, but there he'd been—being cradled to an armored, Galra chest like a newborn babe as the reality, the _finality_, of his Soulmate's death washed over him. The embrace hadn't lasted but mere minutes because, of course, the mission always, always, always had to come first, but still, it…it was nice. The woman who was his mom was holding him, cradling him, for the few minutes they could spare. She was comforting him, her _son_, in the wake of his world crashing down into ruin. It wasn't ideal, it wasn't wanted, but it was nice.

_ "We have to go after the enriched quintessence,"  _ she had reminded gently, her hand rubbing his chest soothingly, something no one had ever done for him before. _"I'm so sorry, Keith, but we've already lost too much time…"_

Right.

The mission.

The mission that always, always, always had to come first, before all else.

It was the mission or it was nothing, and when one mission was done, another took its place, sliding in so easily that it was like _that _had always been the mission, not what they'd just completed.

So, Keith had shut down anything that wouldn't be vital to their mission and followed Krolia into the Quantum Abyss. The numbness that wanted to paralyze him, the void that wanted to engulf him, the fear that wanted him to run, run, **run**—none of that mattered. It only served as a distraction.

And yet…

Every time, every single damn time, he caught sight of _fuck keith no stop _marred by that black, fatal line, he thought of blue eyes, a hearty laugh, a caring heart. It didn't matter what he was doing—scavenging for food, battling one of the Abyss creatures, bathing the space wolf, sleeping—he still always thought of Lance.

(And every time his chest would constrict, painfully squeezing the air out of his lungs while his heart ached and ached and ached until he was sure it would implode. Every time, he had to concentrate on not letting the fear of _he's dead, he's dead, he's _**_dead _**stop him in his tracks and drag the tears down his cheeks.)

He thought of how Lance had shouted those words to him; how he'd reached out, stumbling forward in near desperation. His expression had been so open and vulnerable that Keith almost moved back, almost opened his arms wide to catch Lance in a hug.

Almost.

Truthfully, he'd been so unnerved that he couldn't do anything but stand there in surprise. It was so out of character for Lance to behave like that, especially towards him, that he had felt like his entire existence been thrown off kilter, like he was no longer in his body.

And his wrist—his _words_—had tingled, as if they too could feel the shiver crawling down his spine. Or maybe they _were_ the shiver crawling down his spine.

Despite Lance's first words to him being nothing close to ones on his wrist—_No, no, no, _I'm_ saving Shiro _—a deep worry had settled in his gut, had rooted itself in the back of his mind, lingering. It hadn't left him until he saw Lance again, alive and breathing and just as dramatic as ever. (And _alive_.)

He'd been so surprised at the relief he felt—at the _need_ to pull Lance aside and make sure he was actually okay, to run his hands all over that lean body and make sure there weren't any new scars…

The intensity of it had scared him, and so, naturally, he'd immediately pushed that need aside, which, by extension, pushed Lance aside too.

But it had been more than that.

He could admit it to himself now—there had been more than just relief filling his chest.

His body had already been chalked full of adrenaline since the discovery of the Altean colony, but when he saw Lance, when he felt the relief and need and pull, so intense, he'd also felt something else. His wrist. As soon as Lance had spoken to him, his wrist had tingled again—it wasn't the raw burning sensation others had described, but there was no denying it.

The words on his wrist came alive, preening and yearning, as Lance said them.

_ Hold on. _

Just two little words, but they had his mind racing and his heart thumping.

So, Keith did what made sense at the time: push aside his thoughts and feelings and desires until the mission was over, until it was safe to show vulnerability.

But now he knew how wrong, so totally wrong, that had been. A huge blunder of a mistake that had been.

Would his explanation be enough?

Could Lance accept that Keith's childhood had broken him in ways he hadn't realized until recently, causing him to think that pushing away people _before_ they could hurt him was better than allowing them to get close enough _to_ hurt him? Would Lance even believe that Keith had been nursing a crush on him, despite how badly he wanted to wait for his Soulmate, ever since the Bonding Moment that Lance didn't even remember?

Could Lance even entertain the idea that he had a Soulmate despite being Soulless?

A hand settled on Keith's shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts.

Shiro gave him a reassuring smile, his hand squeezing and grounding him.

"I know, Keith. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have ignored the weight of this situation." He took a breath. "But if you don't do it now, then when? You won't be here next week, let alone next month. You never know when you'll be able to make it to these dinners. I know you, Keith—if you don't take this chance, you're going to regret it and use this moment to _wrongly _remind yourself why you don't belong. Wrongly."

A small smile tugged at Keith's lips.

"You know me way too well, Shiro," he said, his voice barely a whisper. Then, even lower, he asked, "But what happens if Lance doesn't want me? We… Our friendship has been rocky at best and flat out toxic at worst. What if he doesn't want a Soulmate?"

"Then I'll be here for you," Shiro assured. "Me and Curtis and Kosmo and a giant tub of ice cream and those silly Korean dramas you love so much."

"Well, I _am_ half-Korean," he reminded, his tone teasing. "So, unlike _some people_, I actually appreciate what my culture has to offer the world."

Shiro snorted, not unkindly, and ruffled Keith's hair. "Oh, don't start that with me again; Curtis never let me hear the end of it when you told him that I don't like anime."

"It's a _travesty_—" Keith began, easily falling into the familial banter.

"It's neither of your businesses," Shiro interrupted with an eyeroll, but he was grinning. "Okay, now, stop stalling and go get him, tiger."

With a gentle shove, Keith started towards Lance's door. Slowly, he opened it back up—Lance didn't lock it, which he was definitely going to have a chat with him about—and stepped through the threshold just as Shiro's taillights started receding in the trees.

His steps have never sounded so loud in his ears and he was sure that it wasn't _this_ farfrom the front door to the kitchen, but it felt like he'd been walking for ages, wearing giant metal shoes that creaked out _I'm here, I'm here, I'm right fucking here _with each step.

But then he finally arrived.

For a moment, he paused in the juncture between Lance's kitchen and living room, gathering his bearings. He took the moment to appreciate the scene before him: Lance singing absentmindedly to his playlist, filled with songs from across the world and the galaxy, while washing the pile of dishes they had all left behind and dancing in partially-aborted movements. The overwhelming need to have this, to see Lance like this every day, almost made him run into the bathroom to throw up before leaving without a word.

Almost.

_ Lance, I think you're my Soulmate _ . Easy enough. He could say that. _Lance, you said my Words, my second set, and I think—no, I want; I _**_want_**_—you to be my Soulmate._

With a final pat to his pocket, he took in a deep, steadying breath, and stepped forward to break the calm, peaceful atmosphere.

"Lance?"

Lance screeched, arms flailing in the air, spewing soapy water everywhere until they finally settled on gripping the front of his shirt and the sink's counter.

"_Dios mio_, Keith!" he cursed, utterly panicked. "Don't scare the guy who just fed you!"

"Sorry," Keith murmured, holding back a wince.

He hadn't meant to scare Lance _that _badly. Shit, this was already going so wrong…

…but he had no idea just how wrong the night would go. He had no idea—_no idea_—that Lance…and that _he_…and that _they_…

So much had transpired between them, so many things had simultaneously happened and not happened, and Keith just had _no idea_.

"You _died_?" he asked, voice breaking as his mind struggled to catch up with everything Lance was saying, everything Lance was revealing.

This was not how the night was supposed to go.

Lance was supposed to be Soulless. Hell, he was supposed to be fucking _happy_. The Lover Boy Sharpshooter, who could be anyone and everyone's friend, who could brighten the room with a corny joke and a giant grin, who made Keith want to be a better version of himself.

That's what Keith had planned on telling him—that and so much more.

Keith was supposed to have walked into the kitchen and explained that, even though Lance was Soulless, Keith had gotten a second set of words after his first Soulmate died—which he still hadn't fully processed, but there didn't ever seem to be the time to; not that he would've told Lance that, at least not now, during his confession—and they were _Lance's _words to him, and those words made Keith happy, so incredibly happy, because he was falling hard for the Blue-turned-Red Paladin, and would Lance be willing to give them a try, be willing to be tied down to just one person, because Keith was willing, oh god, he was _so _willing—he wanted to hold Lance's hand and his cheek and his waist, wanted to taste Lance's lips, wanted to laugh and talk and even cry with the man before him, to spend the rest of his life with him.

But Keith's speech was useless here.

It didn't plan on Lance lying to the team about his soul-situation, didn't plan on Lance ripping Keith's chest open over and over with each new passing word, didn't plan on watching Lance crack in front of him, showing how utterly shattered he was underneath a thin, near-invisible façade. Shattered since they were _twelve-fucking-years-old_! He was Keith's first—fuck, he was Keith's _only_—Soulmate, and not only had Keith been in the dark about it for years, it turned out that Lance had died, _died_, and no one thought to share that with him either!

Some leader he was. Some friend. Some fucking human being.

He came in here to tell Lance that he wanted a relationship with him, one of his best friends, only to find out he barely knew Lance at all!

God, how could Lance even stand to _look_ at him? How could Lance have been around him all those months in space—all those _years _at the Garrison, when he…oh god, oh _fuck_, Keith didn't remember Lance from the Garrison, didn't have any clue that the blue-eyed boy even existed, and Lance had to _live _through that! Had to live _with _that!

_ "That rivalry was just so you wouldn't forget me," _ Lance had said. _"But you did anyway. You decided I wasn't worth your time, and I got that message loud and clear."_

"Lance," he rasped, clutching at the front of Lance's shirt.

When had he gotten into the other man's arms? Why was Lance even holding him, looking at him like he was the most important being in the universe, when all Keith did was hurt him, over and over and over again?

"I was a troubled kid. An oblivious, troubled kid—asshole really. I was an asshole and I _hurt you_—" his voice broke, and every single memory of them, from harsh fights to soft smiles, bubbled at the surface of his mind; he could've gotten lost in them, but he knew he couldn't stop now, he had to continue on. "And I know my childhood doesn't excuse what I said to you, and I know that I don't deserve to have someone like you as my Soulmate, but, Lance, I'm _so sorry_. I fucked up then, and—"

_ And I understand why you don't want me _ , he nearly said, but Lance cut him off.

"Keith, what are you talking about?" His hand gently cupped Keith's face, thumb gently wiping away a few tears. "You deserve everything the universe has to offer. You're the best pilot of this generation, you're the Black paladin, and you're the strongest, bravest, most amazing being to ever exist in this universe. _I'm_ the one who doesn't deserve you. I'm just…me. Nobody special. Keith, you deserve someone who can light up the galaxy, just for you. Who can be your friend, your equal."

His jaw dropped at Lance's words.

How could someone be so compassionate to another being, one so unworthy of it, but then turn around and be so deprecating to themselves?

(Keith knew exactly how. He did the very same thing—Shiro even reminded him of that, and of how wrong it was, earlier this very night—but _he_ wasn't anything like Lance. Out of all the people in the universe Keith knew, which was more than he'd ever thought possible, _Lance_ was the one who shouldn't have had any reason to talk so lowly of himself, not _him_.)

"_No_," he growled, looming over Lance, pressing him against the counter. "Fucking hell, Lance, _you're_ the one who deserves everything! You're the one who found Blue, you're the one who kept us together and sane and happy on the castle. You don't even need to use a weapon when you could literally talk your enemy into being your friend. When you smile, I swear that every fucking star dims because you outshine them tenfold! You _are_ my equal, Lance. Hell, you're _more than_ my equal; you're so much better than me in so many different ways. You are the most incredible, amazing, thoughtful, selfless, _beautiful_ person I've ever met in this stupid universe, and I'll be damned if I let you talk about yourself like you're not!"

The world seemed to stop, then. To freeze everyone else long enough so that for this one moment, it was just the two of them alive in the world.

Just Keith, who's chest was heaving from his rant.

Just Lance, who's wide, wet eyes looked at Keith like he meant _everything._

Just them, Keith and Lance, side-by-side, against the world.

Their eyes locked together, and Keith swore he saw a whole new universe in those blue pools. He breathed in deeply, Lance doing the same. The magnitude of the moment had Keith practically drunk. Here they were, nose-to-nose as their lungs filled with the same exact air at the same exact time. Keith wanted to live in this moment forever, where the world was stopped and they were the only two beings alive…

…but then the world started up again, and rather than ice, there was a blistering _fire_.

Keith couldn't stop himself, couldn't hold back any longer—he surged forward. He _had_ to kiss this man, who had so much faith, so much _love_, for him, despite the fact that he was the one who'd broken and beaten and wrecked Lance over and over and over again for _years_. He had to taste that faith, that love, on Lance's lips, had to devour as much of it as he could while he waited for the inevitable. Waited to be pushed away, to be yelled at, to be thrown out.

But that never happened.

Instead, Lance whimpered, the noise broken and desperate, and kissed him back. He _kissed_ him back! Lance's hands didn't push him away—they cradled his cheek and covered his heart. Could he feel the way it raced? The way it said, with every frantic beat, **more more **_**more**_.

He didn't realize he'd moved them into the living room until Lance was suddenly slipping out of his arms and collapsing on the couch with a surprised, punched out gasp.

Keith wasted no time climbing into Lance's lap, needing the contact again, needing to have Lance's lips back on his, and this time, it was smoother. Their teeth didn't clash together as much, and Keith found himself moving his hips to the rhythm of their kiss. He was grinding on Lance, like some pathetic, horny pervert, and yet Lance _still_ didn't push him away. Rather, his own hips were moving in sync with Keith's and his hands were clutching at the back of Keith's shirt, as if afraid it would be Keith who would leave him.

Who would leave him again.

_ Never _ , he thought to himself, his mind growling and recoiling at the notion.

Even if a thousand Zarkons came and dragged Keith away, chained him up to torture him one by one, _none_ of them would be able to stop him from returning to Lance, to this very moment, because now that he knew, now that he _knew_, not even God herself would stop him from staying right here by Lance's side, no matter the consequence. So, long as Lance would have him, Keith would be there.

His lips trailed off Lance's, searching for a spot that would make him gasp, make him certain that Keith meant every word, every kiss. Keith found that spot in the tender flesh below Lance's jaw.

** Real ** , the pulse told him, tingling his lips with each beat. This was **real real **_**real**_.

Except Lance didn't have the security of a pulse to ease his worries.

"You…You like me?" he asked breathlessly, voice trembling.

"_Yes_." Keith breathed as much life, as much love and faith and trust, into that word as possible. "I like you so much, Lance."

Lance had all the reason to doubt him, to scoff and shove him off, but Keith would spend eternity, and then some, erasing all the doubt that he had unknowingly burned into Lance's mind.

"And you…you _want_…to be my…my Soulmate?"

"Lance." His hands moved to cup Lance's face, to angle it so he was looking up and locking eyes with him. "Lance, I'm _so fucking glad_ we're Soulmates."

"Fuck," the word seemed to be punched out of Lance, like he hadn't been sure up until that moment what Keith's intentions truly were. His eyes watered as he admitted, "Fuck, I didn't…I didn't think this would ever happen…"

"It's happening," Keith assured, tears falling down his cheeks. Leaning down, Keith kissed him again…and again…and again. He would wait however long, would give him however many kisses, it took until he could make up for the millions of pieces he'd broken Lance's heart into. "It's happening and it's only going to get better from here, Lance. I promise."

"I love you," Lance whispered, choking on the words, as if he hadn't planned on saying them. "Keith, I…I love you so much."

"I love you too," he whispered back. He leaned in for another kiss. "I love you so much, Lance. My Soulmate."

Lance whimpered.

"S-Say that again," he begged, hands tightening on Keith's hips. "Please. Keith, say it again."

Keith would never need to be told twice. He never wanted to stop saying it.

"My Soulmate," he repeated, looking down. This man, the one who outshined the sun, stars, and moon with his smile, who pulled Keith in with his gravity, was Keith's Soulmate, and he wouldn't exchange him for the universe. "Lance, you're my Soulmate. I don't want anyone else, but you. Soulmate."

Another whimper escaped Lance's throat, his tears finally falling down at Keith's words. He leaned forward, resting his head against Keith's chest, and _sobbed_.

Just as Lance had done for him, Keith gently wrapped his arms around Lance's shoulders and squeezed, pressing him snuggly against his chest.

"This is _real_," Lance's muffled voice said. "You're _real_…"

"Yeah." Keith's voice broke at the word, and it seemed he still had tears left to cry because they were falling from his eyes again. "This is real, Lance. I promise. You're my Soulmate."

Lance sobbed harder, clutching at Keith desperately.

They stayed like that for a while. Keith running his fingers soothingly through Lance's hair until his arm protested at the repetitive movement, and then he continued on. Lance sobbed until Keith's shirt was completely soaked through, and then he continued on. Keith whispered affirmations until his voice went hoarse, and then he continued on.

When it finally seemed like Lance had cried out all the tears in his being, Keith gently shifted to lie comfortably on his side, pulling Lance down with him. The couch was barely big enough for them to do this, but Keith didn't care. He cushioned Lance's head with his arm, holding Lance close to him, unable to part even an inch of their skin. His legs bracketed Lance's, the top one slung over Lance's hip, resting heavily atop it.

Lance didn't seem to notice any of this, face still buried in Keith's chest, not even when Keith pressed him further into the couch's cushions to make more room, so that his ass wasn't hanging off. Not that Keith blamed him for not pulling back and restarting up a conversation; he was probably lost in his memories, processing everything.

Keith could be patient. He could wait for a day—a month, a year, a lifetime—for Lance. It was the least he could do, after everything.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into Lance's hair, the words barely pushing past his lips. "I love you, Lance. My Soulmate."

That caused a small whine to escape Lance's throat and he nuzzled closer to Keith's neck, but didn't move other than that. Sometime later, Keith wasn't sure how long, he felt Lance's breath even out, felt his body lose the tension that came from being awake. With a soft sigh, Lance fell into sleep's clutches.

Minutes later, Keith did the same.

x~xXx~x

Hot.

It was so damn _hot_.

Most people hated waking up hot—hated the suffocating, all-encompassing, sweat-inducing feeling that came with being way too warm. They'd shimmy away from it, seeking out the cool air or, if desperate enough, an ice pack to chase away the heat.

Keith was not like most people. He would seek out the hottest part of the room, turn his thermostat up as high as it would allow, and just pass out. (His foster parents always hated him for it, but there were worst things to be hated for, so he could live with that.) After discovering his Galra heritage, it wasn't hard to connect the feline-like species' tendencies to his own abnormal behavior.

Groaning, he snuggled down deeper into the heat…the heat that made a delighted cooing noise back at him.

What the fuck?

Pulling back, Keith's bleary eyes took in the brown, curly hair that tickled at his nose and the deep, even breathing that puffed on his neck and the smooth, freckled skin that pressed upon his own.

_ Lance _ .

Last night hit him like a freight train.

"Fuck," he breathed out, a tremor racking his body. "Oh my god. _Lance_..."

The man didn't stir at his words, though a contented hum did leave his pursed lips.

Slowly, Keith brought his free hand up to gently stoke at Lance's hair, as if the body heat wasn't enough to prove to him that he wasn't in a dream. The brown, curly hair was soft and silky and very real. Keith let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"I'm going to be here," he promised, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm going to be right here when you wake up. I promise."

Except the seconds turned into minutes, which turned into hours.

Lance was still sleeping soundly and Keith really had to pee.

"Don't wake up," he pleaded, carefully extracting himself when he couldn't hold it anymore. The cold air had him shivering. "Please don't wake up and see me gone."

Lance moaned softly, curling into the empty space Keith had just been in, but he didn't wake. Quietly, Keith padded through Lance's house, trying to finish the stupid human necessity as quickly as possible. Still, he took a moment, after washing his hands and splashing water on his face, to stare at himself in the mirror.

_ This is the face of the one who broke Lance's heart _ , he thought bitterly.

He looked the part, with his large, jagged scar and the way the skin under his eyes were perpetually dark and shallow. Even as a kid, he played the part—knowingly and unknowingly. It had been his choice to ignore the students around him, to pretend they didn't exist so that they couldn't ever hurt him, and that had worked all too well. None of his classmates could make their way into the cold, protective shell he'd formed around himself, which meant his Soulmate couldn't either.

How many times had Lance looked at him, shouted at him, just for a glance that never came? How long had he pounded on that shell with all his might, and Keith hadn't even turned his head?

But what was it Lance said last night?

_ "You're the best pilot of this generation, you're the Black paladin, and you're the strongest, bravest, most amazing being to ever exist in this universe…Keith, you deserve someone who can light up the galaxy, just for you." _

And the way he'd looked at him…Lance had looked at Keith like he was so important, like he meant everything, like the faith and trust and love that Lance poured out upon him had purpose.

Keith straightened his shoulders, looking himself dead in the eyes.

_ This is the face that will heal him _ , he corrected himself. _The face that will be there to help pick up all the pieces and carefully set them back together. That is going to confront what he did and _**_do_**_ something about it._

The strength he'd mustered petered out of him the moment he stepped foot in the living room. Lance was rubbing his eyes, frowning down at the empty spot next him on the couch. When he caught sight of Keith, half hidden from the early morning shadows, he looked up, jaw dropping with a sharp inhale.

For a moment, the stillness that settled around him was immobilizing, but Keith refused, absolutely _refused_, to be beaten by it. Not after everything that happened last night.

"I'm sorry," he breathed out, unable to say the words fast enough. "I had to pee, I was coming right back, I swear, but I just couldn't hold it anymore, I'm so sorry, I didn't want you to wake up and see me gone, but I promise, I was coming right—"

Lance giggled and Keith found the rest of his apology dying on his lips at the sound.

"S-Sorry," he stammered though another giggle. He bit his lip to stop himself and Keith couldn't take his eyes off it. "I've just…I've never seen you ramble like that before."

He blushed, rubbing his arms self-consciously. "C-Can I sit by you?"

Wordlessly, Lance pulled his knees up to his chest, allowing room for Keith. He sat down, more aware then before just how cold he felt without Lance pressed against his chest. Licking his lips, he tried to think of something to say, but his mind was traitorously blank.

It was Lance who finally broke the silence.

"Last night…" he started, eyes averted to stare at his patterned rug. "That was sure something, huh?"

A bubble of laughter burst through Keith's throat—god, that was just so utterly _Lance_ that he couldn't help it. It didn't turn out to be the major mistake he feared because it got Lance's eyes to look at him, got Lance's lips to pull into a shy smile.

"Yeah," he agreed. "It was."

"Sorry, I ruined your shirt," Lance said, averting his eyes again.

"You didn't ruin my shirt," he protested softly. He glanced down at himself, at the discolored spot on his chest where Lance's tears had soaked through to his skin, and remembered Shiro's warning about the delicateness of silk when he'd given it to him for his birthday. "It's just a shirt, anyway."

Lance hummed, his cheeks tinging a light pink.

"I like the shirt," he mumbled.

Blinking, Keith waited one, two seconds before the implication hit him and he felt his own cheeks heating up. Lance liked the shirt. Not because of the color or style or fabric—he liked it because _Keith _was wearing it.

"I can buy another one," he said quietly. "I-If you want me to."

"_Oh_," Lance breathed out, eyes wide. "If I…? Uh, well…"

He ducked his head under his arms and didn't finish the sentence.

"…Lance?" Keith prompted after a moment. "Are…Are you okay?"

Lance tensed. Slowly, he raised his head, his eyes peering at Keith through his bangs. He kept the rest of his face hidden behind his arms.

"I don't know," he admitted quietly.

Understandable. Completely understandable.

With a small nod, Keith asked, "Do you…want me to go?"

Lance ducked his head again, but was quick to answer with a firm, yet terrified, "_No_."

"Okay," he said, unable to stop the relief from coloring his voice.

He didn't say anything else, didn't move, until Lance peered up at him again a few minutes later. Then, after a few more minutes had passed, Lance lifted his head fully and licked his lips.

"I…" he paused, as if trying to figure out how best to say what was on his mind.

Keith would wait years, if that was how long it took for Lance to formulate his sentence. Thankfully, he only needed another few seconds.

"You might not remember," he started, voice hoarse. "But I need to know why you…why you said…_it_."

Then, in a rush, he added, "Why you even _thought_ it about yourself."

He didn't need to clarify any more, Keith knew exactly which words Lance was alluding to. (Though, now that he was thinking about it, there were many words he'd said that he needed to explain. To apologize for. Maybe his speech wouldn't be so useless after all.) It had barely been two seconds, but the moment Keith saw those words etched on Lance's left wrist, they were seared into his heart forever.

____________________

_ i dont have friends _

_ just enemies and people _

_ i dont give a shit about _

____________________

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as the memory of another set of words, so similar yet different in the most important way, washed over him.

"When I got into the Garrison," he began, forcing himself to look into Lance's expectant, slightly scared blue eyes. "There were only two people I really knew. Shiro and James Griffin."

Lance nodded.

"James and I went to school together, before we'd been accepted in the Garrison," he continued. "We never really got along. He was a huge asshole to everyone, but especially me. I…I think it was because I was in the system? Whenever he got in trouble for bullying me, it wasn't as bad as when he'd bully the other kids. The ones… The ones who had parents to stand up for them."

Slowly, Lance unfolded himself so he was sitting with Keith shoulder-to-shoulder, their legs pressed against each other. After a moment, Keith let himself lean into the touch, careful not to put too much weight into it, not yet.

"He liked to remind me that I didn't have any friends. That I was different from everyone else, an outcast. And he was right, in a way. I mean, I was an orphan and I didn’t have a cent to my name and I knew I wasn't straight since…well, my whole life, I guess. Like, I was born knowing I wasn't a boob guy."

Lance snorted. Keith leaned into him a little more.

"James and I were the only people from our school who got accepted into the Garrison. He was livid about how _I_ got in with him—a poor orphan who was just dripping with gay."

Lance leaned in slightly. "Gotta say, I can't really see you being, like, overly flamboyant, even as a kid."

"No, I wasn't really into rainbows and sparkles and stuff," he agreed. "But I was also never into playing those stupid, macho football games—"

"More like you were interested in the stupid, macho football _players_, huh?" Lance interrupted, wiggling his eyebrows.

Keith huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes.

"Well, actually…um…" Slowly, he moved his hand, taking Lance's pinky in his. When Lance didn't pull away, though his lips did pull into a small smile with a shade of pink splashing his cheeks, Keith continued: "Actually, I was way more into the swimmers."

"…'Cause the dudes were practically naked?"

"Lance, I'm trying to tell you my childhood sob story here," he complained, but he was giggling and leaning even more into Lance and—_Oh_.

"Sorry, Sorry," Lance apologized, readjusting his grip on Keith's waist. "Continue."

It took a moment for Keith to even remember what he was talking about. (Lance was cuddling him.) Something about him being gay. (Lance was leaning back against the couch and cuddling him.) Something about his childhood. (Lance. was. cuddling. him.) Something about something. (Lance was holding him in his arms and leaning back against the couch and tangling their legs together and _cuddling! him!_)

"It wasn't _just _because of that," he finally managed to say, carefully relaxing his head on Lance's chest. "Swimmers, good swimmers, have this…I guess this _grace _about them. I don't mean they're delicate, not at all, they're really powerful athletes, but they're also…beautiful. Football players are just all power, all aggression, all the time, and it’s exhausting. Swimmers are powerful _and _graceful, and everything about them is just so…so attractive…

"I even tried out for the team once," he admitted, chuckling at the memory. "But I was so awful; I've never been a particularly good swimmer and after just one week, the coach was suggesting I take up something else, like wrestling or something. I wasn't too upset about it though since the other ten-year-olds didn't have the grace and power that made me interested in it in the first place. Plus, I'd rather be up in the stars than down in the water."

Lance hummed. “I’d want both, if I could.”

Keith blushed, suddenly remembering how Lance once complained about not being able to get in his daily laps once they became stuck in space.

_ "It just sucks!"  _ he'd griped. _"I know we're supposed to be training all the time or whatever, but I hate sweating! And if I had a workable pool, I could be doing laps and building muscle _**_there_**_, but noooo. No, god forbid we do anything that isn't fighting a simulation like barbarians!"_

Coran had shown Lance how to use the pool the next day, and within the month, it was clear that Lance was improving tenfold. He seemed to have more energy, more power, more focus behind his movements. Even outside of training, there was a difference to him—he walked with more purpose, he talked with more gravity. Keith remembered the startling realization that the grace and power he'd found so attractive in swimmers was the same exact thing being broadcasted in Lance's new demeanor. It had done absolutely nothing to help him curb his budding crush on the (not-so) Soulless boy. 

Shit, Lance had _totally_ been an active swimmer before being accepted into the Garrison…and probably even continued swimming while there too, considering the space program had a pool along with their high-quality gym…_fuck_, _and _Keith had just admitted to finding swimmers incredibly, undeniably attractive…

…Except, wait a minute, what the hell was he thinking? There was no need to be embarrassed by that! They were _Soulmates_! It was fine, _more _than fine, for him to admit that he found swimmers' bodies, _Lance's _body, hot as fuck.

He glanced up, taking in the blush on Lance’s cheeks and the dilation of his pupils. It was like he was, maybe, thinking of the same memory, connecting the same dots, as Keith. The vulnerability of it all almost had Keith scrambling off the couch to put as much distance between himself and the potential for heartbreak as quickly as possible. 

Almost.

It had been years since he was that scared and broken twelve-year-old kid—hell, he wasn’t even the same scared and broken _eighteen_-year-old kid—and he’d worked so hard to put that pain behind him. 

And now, now that he knew everything, now that he knew all that could’ve been, could’ve been so much earlier in his life, Keith didn’t want to hide that vulnerability anymore. He wanted to show, wanted to _give_, it all to Lance, to his Soulmate.

…Which was something that was probably a bit too intense for the moment, so he carefully shelved that conversation for another day. Maybe it was months away, or maybe it was years, but Keith knew Lance needed more time than just one night to process that he now knew they’ve been Soulmates since the beginning, that he wanted Lance just as desperately as Lance wanted him, even if it had took him a painfully longer time to understand.

Clearing his throat, he continued, "But then, uh, then the more energy I poured into space and piloting, the more James hated me for it.”

“Rude,” Lance murmured.

Keith shrugged. “I mean, I was better than him. I was so much better than any of them. I didn’t know why, but it was like I was born to fly. I didn't have any tutors or special one-on-one time or parents with loads of money, yet I could beat James’ simulation scores half-asleep with barely any concentration. So, he stopped targeting everyone else and just…focused on me."

He took a deep breath. This was the part that Lance needed to hear.

"Something he would tell me," he licked his lips. "Was that I wouldn't ever have anybody. Friends, family, nobody. He'd seen my Soul Words after one of the P.E. classes, and from then on, it was like it was his mission in life to tell me that I wouldn't ever have a friend. The only people in my life would be those who didn't give a shit about me or the enemies I made for myself, like him."

He released a shaky breath, taking a moment to relish the feeling of Lance's fingers carding through his hair.

"The first day I ever stepped foot in the Garrison, move-in day, James had walked down the hall of every floor in that dorm until he found me, just to remind me that even here, I was still just the poor orphan, abandoned by everyone, and completely friendless."

A pained noise escaped Lance's throat as he angled himself to face Keith. His hands moved to gently cup his cheeks and wipe away the stray tears that fell from his eyes without him knowing.

"I…I do remember someone coming up to me," he said, softly, his hands covering Lance's. "Right after James had left."

_ Lance _ , his brain told him, throwing the name like a dagger. _It was Lance, your Soulmate, and you just dismissed him like he was nothing. And then you _**_forgot_**_ about him._

"But I thought they'd been put up to it by James." Fuck, the hot tears spilling from his eyes burned him as they fell, but Lance gently and patiently wiped each one away. "I was so furious, I'd been digging my fingernails in the palms of my hands—had to wear a bandaged for, like, two weeks. I remember yelling at them, spitting James' words back in their face, but I twisted them to—to protect myself."

"So, that instead of everyone not caring for you, it was you not caring for them first," Lance finished, leaning his head against Keith's. "_Fuck_, Keith. That's… James was a total asshole. You didn’t deserve any of that."

"It's in the past," he mumbled, unable to look into Lance’s eyes.

"And yet it's clearly been affecting us both."

Keith pulled back slightly, taking Lance's hands off his face and into the palms of his own hands, squeezing.

"But you more so," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Lance frowned.

"How can you sit there and—and _hold me _when all I've done is—?"

"Nuh-huh, nope, don't do that, Keith,” Lance scolded gently. “Don't invalidate your own feelings just because I have a few of my own. _Nope_—" he pulled a hand out of Keith's grasp to press his finger against Keith's lips "—I don't want to hear it. Listen, I am the king of invalidating my feelings, so I know the signs. And I know that neither of us should do it too. Yeah, you were a totally jackass, but it doesn’t change the fact that what James did to you hurt you too."

Keith smirked. "You sound just like Shiro."

Lance smiled in return, chuckling, "Not a bad guy to sound like."

He took his finger away and it took everything in Keith's power not to grab his hand to press it back to his lips, kissing his palms and wrists and fingers.

"It is when I want to kiss you." Keith's eyes bulged as he realized what he said. Quickly, he tried to backtrack, "Uh, I mean—no pressure! I just—"

"Keith."

He stuttered to a stop as Lance moved his hand to gently cup his cheek again.

"I want to kiss you too," he whispered.

"Y-Yeah?"

"Yeah." Except Lance didn't kiss him. He removed his hand from Keith's face and sighed. "But I…I don't want to start something that's just going to end…I _can't _start something with you, knowing it'll only be temporary."

"It won't be!" Keith reached for Lance's hands again, mind and heart racing. Even after all this, Lance still didn't believe him? "I don't want anything with you to be temporary. Lance, I meant what I said last night; I _want you_. I don't want anyone, but you."

Lance seemed to shrink under his gaze.

"You're rarely on Earth," he reminded, voice quiet. "And there's so many people out in the universe, you're bound to find someone better than me—"

"I'll stop," he interrupted quickly, taking Lance's face in his hands, gently wiping away his tears like he'd done for him just minutes ago. "I'll stay, here on Earth, but not because I might find someone better out in the universe. That person doesn't exist. There's no one that could be better than you, Lance, but I’ll stop leaving Earth if you want me to."

"B-But—" Lance, the utter hypocrite, seemed to be grasping at straws, trying to make it so that it was impossible for them to be together. "Your mission. You're one of the Blade leaders."

Keith shook his head. "They managed hundreds of years without me during a fucking war. They can survive without me again, especially now."

"You hate being restless. If you stay, then you'll just resent me for keeping you from being out there and helping—"

"Then come with me," he suggested. "Not because I'll resent you, but I know you're restless too. You hate being bored just as much as I do, Lance. So, come with me. _C_ome see the stars with me. And swim in the galactic oceans."

"That's…could I even do that?" His voice was shaking, as if he'd thought about it before but was too afraid to know the answer. "I'm not Galra. Aren't there…rules?"

"You're a Paladin of Voltron, Lance." Keith reminded gently. "They'd be honored to have you. And fuck the rules, we do what we want, we’ve earned it."

Lance snorted at that, his cheeks covered with his tears again.

"Will you come with me?" he asked, wiping at the wetness with his thumbs.

Lance licked his lips. "I…I don't know yet."

Keith held onto that little word with all his might. 

_ Yet _ .

"This is all…" He continued slowly. "I mean, I never thought this would happen…and now…now everything's happening so fast."

"You can take your time," Keith assured. "I'll wait however long I have to for you."

Lance blushed. "R-Really?"

"_Absolutely_."

And that did something.

It finally did something.

Lance's eyes lit up it a way that said, _'I _**_get_**_ it'_ and his smile pulled at his cheeks in a way that Keith hadn't seen since…maybe ever. It was almost like the moment from last night, where Lance had leaned his forehead against Keith's chest and sobbed out, _"This is real."_ Except this time, it wasn't merely the moment that was real, it wasn't merely Keith's presence that was real—this time, it was everything.

Keith wasn't going away. Ever. He wasn't merely comforting Lance just to get up and leave the next day. He wasn't confessing to something that he _had_ felt but stopped once he realized the mess that was Lance. He wasn't going away. Period.

"…Okay."

Keith blinked.

"Okay?" he repeated.

"Yeah, um," Lance glanced away, his cheeks burning red. When he looked back at Keith, he was biting his lip. "Okay, you can kiss me now."

He blinked again. Then: "O-_Oh_!"

Lance smiled shyly.

Keith licked his lips as his hands trembled. He was already so close to Lance—his hands still on Lance's cheeks, his body leaning forwards towards Lance's, his legs tangled up with Lance's own. Now all he had to do was remember how he was supposed to move, how he was supposed to angle his head and slot his lips against Lance's and curl his hands in Lance's hair.

"…Do you not want to anymore?" Lance asked quietly as the seconds ticked by.

His heart seized in fear.

"_N-No_!" he hastily corrected. "No, I _do_, oh my god, I do, I want to kiss you so bad, I just don't remember—I mean, I _do_ remember, but I—I forgot how to…um, how to move…um…please stop laughing at me," he whispered.

"You were rambling again, Keith," Lance teased lightly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Keith's. He was smirking, the devilish glint in his eyes shining brighter and brighter as Keith had rambled on and on. "It's cute."

Keith would love to say he had a witty comeback to that, but all he could do was release a low moan, rumbling in the back of his throat. It didn't help that one of Lance's hands was resting high on his thigh while the other brushed the fringe out of his eyes.

"Y-You're cute," he murmured, eyes lidded, still trying to remember how his brain was supposed to work.

Lance was so close now. Just a breath's away from him. His hand glided up higher on Keith's thigh and suddenly he was able to move again. Keith surged forward, wrapping his arms around Lance's shoulders, and then allowed gravity to bring them, none too gently, back down.

"Shit," Lance gasped, barely bracing himself in time so that he didn't accidentally cut either of their lips with the other's teeth.

"Sorry," Keith muttered, not really all that sorry. He grabbed at Lance's shirt to pull him down.

"Oh, yeah, you're _so sorry_," Lance teased, lips brushing against Keith's.

"Shut up and kiss me." Smirking, he added, "Soulmate."

At that Lance blushed fiercely, but he wasted no more time. Leaning down, he pressed his body against Keith's, fitted their lips together, and moved.

Lance tasted mostly like salty tears a little bit like morning breath, but Keith didn’t care. Not when he could feel Lance’s weight on him, from the softness of his lips to the timid exploration of his tongue to the small movements of his hips. Not when he could hear Lance’s moans and gasps as his hands roamed over the expanse of his back and the strength of his thighs and the firmness of his ass. 

He could stay like that forever, with Lance kissing him and pressing into him, with his legs wrapped around Lance’s waist and his hands wandering all over Lance’s body, with them melting into each other and practically becoming one. 

Yeah, Keith never, ever, _ever _wanted to move.

"We still," Lance mumbled between kisses sometime later. "Still have things…to talk about…"

What more could there be?

"Like?" Keith prompted, arching his back when Lance's lips moved to suck on a particularly sensitive part of his neck.

He had to wait for the answer until after Lance was satisfied with the mark he'd made on his neck, but Keith could be patient. He could wait through a hundred more marks, so long as they were Lance's lips making them on him.

"Like what you'd planned to talk to me about last night," Lance reminded, leaning down to kiss Keith's lips again. "You know, before, um, all hell went loose."

"O-Oh. That…"

Lance pulled back to frown at him, his brows creasing in worry, and it was all Keith could do not to cover his face with his hands. Last night seemed like so long ago. A different time—a different _world __really_. One where he'd been so blind. He’d been like an eager puppy jumping into the car, thinking he was going to the park, but was actually going to the vet to have heart surgery without the anesthesia.

"Well. Um…" Clearing his throat, he pulled out the paper from his pocket, which was a bit difficult to do from his position. "H-Here. Read this."

Nervously, he sat up, but didn’t want to stray too far, so he kept his legs bracketing Lance’s hips, resting over his thighs. He watched Lance's face carefully while he read through the speech Keith had agonized over, pouring out his heart and soul into it, until it was perfect. It felt like hours passed before their eyes meet again.

"_Oh_," Lance breathed out, hands were shaking. "Keith, you…you wanted… Even though you thought I was Soulless, you still wanted…me?"

"Yeah," he admitted softly. "I looked it up. Did you know there's a 0.3% chance of someone being Mated to a Soulless? And then, like, a 0.003% chance of being Mated to a Soulless _after _your first Soulmate dies? Which is still more likely to happen than being Mated to another Soulmate should your first one dies."

Slowly, Lance licked his lips and swallowed. 

"I didn't know that,” he whispered. “You really did your research."

Keith blushed again. "I really wanted to convince you to give us a try."

"Yeah, I…I see that." Lance averted his gaze and bit his lip; the paper in his hands trembled. “A-And you…you _still _want to? To be with me, I mean…”

"Even more so now," he assured, reaching out to hold Lance's hands. He waiting until Lance was looking at him again to ask, "What can I do to make you believe me?"

That made a small smile tug at Lance’s lips.

Shyly, he proposed, "W-Well…you could…kiss me again."

Keith grinned, leaned forward, and chastely pressed their lips together.

"A-Again?" 

Quickly, he obliged, letting their lips stay connected longer this time.

"Once more?"

Keith rose to his knees, cupping Lance's face with both hands and gently guiding him up. Lance rose too, wrapping his arms around Keith's waist, keeping them flush together, as their lips moved with each other, dancing slowly to the beat of their hearts.

"And be patient with me?" Lance finished, pulling back just enough to speak. "I…I think part of me still believes this to be a dream."

"Take all the time you need, Lance,” Keith whispered, gently tracing Lance’s jaw. “I'm not going anywhere without you by my side, my Soulmate."

**Author's Note:**

> Should I add more? Like them telling the team about them, or nah? Tell me if you’d like to read more of it! :)
> 
> \--
> 
> ☕️come share a [ko-fi coffee](https://ko-fi.com/katerinariley0707) with me!
> 
> 💙to DM me, read my latest threads, &/or watch me obsess over my latest fixation(s) in real time, follow me [on twitter](https://twitter.com/KaterinaWritely)
> 
> \--
> 
> If you read & enjoyed my work, feel free to comment a ❤️ or a 😊 or even a ❗️❗️❗️ if you're unsure what to say. Thanks a bunches😘✨


End file.
